1118 8 9
|
The manic,/
looking on, finds and polishes//
the sharp green shard and bottle cap
|
151344
|
Burger King has rekindled Flame, its $4 broiled-meat-scented spray.
|
102100
|
She had no eyes that I could see. Just a pair of lips; they looked soft
|
123297
|
Jeanne and I were married for eight years. I never knew her.
|
145855
|
if it were a child/ it would be in first grade this year
|
131611
|
|
121279
|
Used to be I'd keep busy. Dreadful the time I spend sitting, standing, staring. I lose track, now. I believe it's because he died. It gets hold of me. I'll see him half on half off his bed, a plaid blanket angled over his back and legs, held…
|
170873
|
Why don't we do it in a yellow submarine?
|
152963
|
Now it turns out, the story doesn’t begin with the butterfly lady, herself, but with her brother.
|
109011
|
Grace looks at her cell phone. It had been about a week since her Aunt Margaret fell, slipping gracefully down the stairs and pulling her shoulder out as she grabbed the banister, her hand caught in the holiday streamers spiraling down the railing. Every
|
119733
|
we ran that afternoon/across Bayshore lanes/into green blooming fields, beyond all those
|
15881512
|
She wears three or four tattered sweaters on cool days. She pushes a basket borrowed from a grocery store. There is a plastic lawn bag in the basket with God knows what inside.
|
103788
|
Your self-effacement hid/
so much of you//
until you died and the full/
inked legacy shown in light
|
105562
|
To a desert island I pick a book of crosswords for my one item. It is a desert island. What could be more practical? I awake in the middle of the night, an itch in my throat. I blow my nose. Weird gobbets of blood ring my Kleenex. It drizzles out now, wet here, gelatinous…
|
157196
|
Gather 'round children, For it's high time to tell, The story of a strange man With a horrible, awful smell. For this is a story More disgusting than most. This is the gruesome tale Of Gary Von Gross. With a house made…
|
162265
|
All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. All was confusion in the Lubrecht house. Baby Lubrecht had discovered that his favorite blankey, thought by him to have been lost, was in fact being used by his older sister, Lilly Lubrecht.…
|
152732
|
Does life have an expiration date Alice asked herself? One must be careful when trying to deal with a broken person; you might cut yourself on their shattered pieces. Life can be like an arrow penetrating your heart. Hard and painful to pull it out, yet i
|
9601714
|
My real parents lived about 200 miles in the other direction from where we came. But long ago I determined they were too real.
|
150166
|
Age Eight: Custody battle. Reassure your worried mother that it’s alright, this will give you something interesting to tell your children one day. Until now, life has been very vanilla.
|
136243
|
some days you wake up/ to feel horror/ wrapped beneath your blanket./
|
94222
|
But then there were car windows
bashed out on both sides
Glass on the ground
like Kristallnacht
|
114431
|
Dan Arris sat in Chez Colette enjoying a roulade of veal stuffed with root vegetables. He was not a happy man.
|
132744
|
In my dreams I am cremated in the burning Library of Alexandria.
|
119512
|
I slept and it was pleasant. Then there was the kiss, and it was hot. Later you turned away, and all was November chill. Now there are touches, caresses and shouts, Marvelous nights flavored with favors bestowed, and blackened days,…
|
161275
|
What's the weirdest thing you've ever used as a bookmark? I work in a library. I've seen that, and more.
|
128834
|
She put the Necco wafer on Sally's tongue."You can't be the priest, Emma" Sally said nearly choking on the hard, chalky disk."Then why you on yaw knees stupid?""You said to be prayin' and like in church, but you can't be doin' priest stuff. That's for…
|
17732018
|
or the voice that wants/
to be inscribed/
forgets the sounds
|
127456
|
her hands twined up, as carved from stone, each to fit the other.
|
187786
|
He winked at me and said Let’s get Harris and Klebold on these motherfuckers.
|
119754
|
Writing opens doors to perception. For example, the glockenspiel smells of gardenias, but the catwalk is opening a can of Franklin stove. It emits fumes of fairyland and olive. And in the green and pleasant country of Scotland and England, vintage trains go…
|
